


Approbation

by Nyxelestia



Series: Nyxie Studies Vocabulary With Ficlets [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dom Deucalion, Dom/sub, Flogging, Gentle Dom/Hints of Daddykink, M/M, Masochist Scott McCall, Predicament Bondage, Premature Ejaculation, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sub Scott, Sub Scott McCall, Subdrop, bdsm club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:31:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: Between Deucalion'sapprobationand the increasingly harder hits from the leather, Scott felt his whole body going warm. He was sure his face was flushing, and if the flogger really worked like Deucalion said it did, he was sure his back was turning red, too.He hoped it was.(Sequel toNeophyte.)Additional vocab words in this fic:approbation, excoriate, attenuate, abated, imprecate, irascible, abeyance, execrations, complaisant, viscous, equivocate, implacable, proscribed, apogee, bemused, soporific, plaudits, ebullient, alacrity, buttressing, torpor, satiated, antipathy, assiduous, erudite, grandiloquent





	Approbation

**Author's Note:**

> Vocab words in bold, definitions in the end notes.
> 
> (Sequel to [Neophyte](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12672117).)

_"Then let us begin."_

Scott swallowed, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing on the leather swishing through the air, and Deucalion's heartbeat-

-which didn't change at all when the flogger snapped against Scott's back.

It was surprisingly not that painful, at first. There was the impact, but spread out across his back, followed by a wave of warmth that barely had time to spread before the strips of leather landed on his skin again. His palms were starting to sweat a little - he hoped the quarters wouldn't drop.

The flogger landed, again, and this one was a little harder. He jerked, but didn't move or make a sound, which impressed some of the small crowd growing around them. He gasped as another, harder hit landed.

"Are the quarters still there?" Deucalion asked.

"Yes," Scott answered. A sudden, sharp tap of leather landed on his lower back, right where Deucalion had placed his hand earlier in the night.

"Very good," Deucalion said, and lashed him again. "You're being a very good boy for me, Scott."

Between Deucalion's  **approbation**  and the increasingly harder hits from the leather, Scott felt his whole body going warm. He was sure his face was flushing, and if the flogger really worked like Deucalion said it did, he was sure his back was turning red, too.

He hoped it was.

He also flushed in embarrassment as he realized he felt himself getting hard from this. Scott didn't open his eyes to look down, but he might be bulging enough for even someone in the crowd to notice, if they were by the wall and looking down.

Deucalion definitely must've noticed - or, more likely, just smelled the spike in Scott's arousal - because he doubled down, the blows coming in an increasingly harder and faster rhythm.

The strips of leather were landing so fast and hard on Scott's back, so frequently and ferociously, that it was a wonder Scott wasn't actually getting flayed by the literally magic flogger - it certainly  _felt_  like Deucalion was  **excoriating**  him.

Abruptly, though, the blows went soft and slow.

"Deucalion!" Scott protested.

"It helps to occasionally  **attenuate**  the intensity of the blows," Deucalion explained, the 'strikes' now soft like whispers down his skin. "To prevent monotony."

"I don't care about monotony!" Scott whined. He would've turned around to glare, if it weren't for the quarters he still had to hold against the wall in his sweaty palms. "I just want it harder!"

Deucalion  **abated**  entirely. Scott whimpered at the sudden absence of contact, of blows, of pain and the resulting pleasure.

"You  _asshole_!" Scott  **imprecated** , turning his head and opening his eyes.

He knew he looked like a mess - he could only imagine how his heated skin was flushing, his hair was curling down with sweat, and he was heaving from the pleasure that the bulge in his pants gave evidence of. He  _felt_  like a wreck, lips twitching back in a badly suppressed snarl.

He wasn't normally an  **irascible**  person, but the  **abeyance**  of Deucalion's flogging had him irritated at the deprivation of sensation.

Despite this, Deucalion didn't seem impressed with Scott's angry  **execrations**. Around them, there were nearly a dozen people watching, who seemed amused by it all.

He just looked at the wall - at Scott's hands - then back at Scott.

Scott got the message, and with a sigh, he shut his eyes and turned his back until he was facing the space between his hands again.

He didn't hear any footsteps, but he jerked when he felt the man's fingertips graze against the waistline of Scott's jeans. Scott gasped, as Deucalion swept his hand right over the most intense points of heat.

Deucalion slowly meandered his way up Scott's spine, fingers digging in deeper and adding his thumb, until he was massaging Scott's back, right where he'd been hitting him.

Scott moaned and tried to lean into the touch, but Deucalion eased his hand away, and Scott couldn't move without dropping those quarters.

He kept kneading Scott's abused skin, working his way upward. But before he got close enough to Scott's neck to make Scott tense, his hand veered to the side, so he was massaging Scott's left shoulder, then across his upper back to his right shoulder. His hand sailed under Scott's arm and around his chest, then back up over Scott's pec.

His hand came to a rest on Scott's chest, just below his collar bone, and he pressed down on it - or rather, up, since that forced Scott to stand up a little straighter, pressing his heated back up against the cool silk of Deucalion's shirt.

The small buttons were like bursts of stinging as Deucalion pressed Scott's back into his front. Scott shuddered as he felt Deucalion's lips against the shell of his ear.

"I suggest you ask a little more  **complaisantly**  if you want more," Deucalion drawled, voice thick and  **viscous**  like honey over Scott's fragile libido. "If you want me to listen."

" _Please_ ," Scott murmured. "Please flog me more."

Instead of responding, Deucalion  **equivocated**  with a hum. He stepped away from Scott, who shivered at the cool air suddenly breezing over his heated back.

"Deucalion,  _please_!" Scott begged, eyes scrunching up in frustration as he poured his heart into his plea. But Deucalion was  **implacable**  - he didn't seem to care about Scott's begging at all.

He felt the man's hand weaving into his hair, human fingernails dragging over his scalp before the fingers tensed and clasped Scott's short locks tightly.

"How do you feel about  _this_?" he asked, squeezing a little and tugging on Scott's scalp, the pulling sensation traveling up and down his neck - without even touching his neck at all.

Scott shuddered, and failed to keep his hips steady. "Green," he mumbled. " _So_  green."

"Good..." Deucalion said, drawing out the one-worded praise. "Now, I certainly appreciate your enthusiasm, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't remember your  _place_. What do you think?"

His place? But they were both alphas-

-and neither of them were with their packs right now. This wasn't about their packs, it was about  _them_ , here in a BDSM club, not the woods at night.

"Yes..." Scott tried to search for a word that felt honest. "Sir?"

Finally, Deucalion was placated, if the hint of curving lips he felt against the shell of his ear was anything to go by. "I like the sound of that," he murmured, before stepping back.

Scott cried out in relief when the next lash landed on his back.

The snap of the magically treated leather against his skin had him shaking with each blow, and barely keeping his hands - and the coins in his palm - against the wall.

But Deucalion plateaued, the lashes not coming any faster or slower, softer or harder, for over a dozen in a row (not that Scott was really counting - he'd heard some other people count off as they got flogged, but Deucalion hadn't told him to).

"More, please!" Scott begged. "Harder, sir, harder!"

Deucalion obliged, slowly but steadily. The next strike came a little faster, and harder, and the next one even more so.

The impacts started to veer from warm thuds to hot lashes. The only reason Scott wasn't bracing for his skin to split is because the club had  **proscribed**  fluid play of any kind for the evening, and Deucalion seemed to know what he was doing too well to break that rule accidentally.

Despite the fact there was no reasonable expectation of it, Deucalion's strikes came hard and fast enough that they  _felt_  like they should be cutting into his skin. He could've sworn that he was being flayed open, but he never smelled even a trace of blood.

The man knew what he was doing.

He still occasionally slowed down, or Scott would hear the noise of the flogger coming down only for the tips to barely brushed against his skin.

Twice, he stopped just to rub his hand over Scott's back, leaving a trail of burning skin in his wake as blood rushed to the surface, only to resume flogging Scott before Scott even realized he'd stepped away.

Scott knew there were other people watching him, and somehow that just added to the heat. His hips were jerking with the blows Deucalion landed on him, and during one of Deucalion's lighter moments, he wondered what he looked like to the crowd, as much as he wondered what he smelled like to Deucalion.

Then Deucalion would speed up or hit harder or  _both_  again, and Scott couldn't think anymore.

Deucalion eventually stopped his intermittent periods of slow or soft strikes - he just kept hitting harder and faster.

Scott heard the occasional chuckle from Deucalion at some of the jerks and thrusts of his hips into air, even over the sound of leather snapping against his back, and that just made him lose almost all of his control.

He couldn't do anything but lock his knees to remain standing, and his elbows to make sure he didn't slip and drop those quarters he had to keep pressed against the wall.

He couldn't stop the shuddering of his shoulders whenever a few stray leather strips would brush up against the back of his neck.

He couldn't stop the shivering of his hips as Deucalion approached the peak of the flogging.

And when he reached that  **apogee** , Scott couldn't stop himself from coming in his pants like he was in high school all over again.

He cried out, his voice trailing off into a moan that the wave of pleasure, as he felt a wet spot growing in the front of his tight jeans, fluid trickling down his inner thighs.

That was the only time Deucalion faltered. It was barely a second, the leather sinking against his skin more than landing with a  **bemused** , "Huh."

Still, Deucalion's confusion did not last, and probably wasn't obvious to the audience - most of whom probably had no idea Scott just came in his pants, since as far as he could tell, none of them were anything but human, and wouldn't smell it.

So he kept going.

He lightened up, dramatically, even lighter than before when he'd driven Scott to snap at him. Scott whited out, not sure he'd be able to see anything even if he opened his eyes right now. Despite the soft strikes, he was whimpering with every blow that landed on his overheated skin.

Like he always did after he came, he started to feel  **soporific**  as the energy drained literally drained out of him and soaked his pants. It was fine when he was at home in his bed and could drop off straight to sleep afterwards, but not so much when he had to stay standing and stay braced against the wall to keep his palms pressed tight against it. Even as Deucalion's strikes grew more and more intermittent, he felt his arms and shoulders trembling with the effort to stay up right, to keep those stupid quarters pressed against the wall, to not drop like he wanted to.

His world narrowed down to the warm metal against his palms, the kisses of leather against his skin, and Deucalion's accelerating heartbeat.

Scott didn't even notice when the flogging stopped altogether, or Deucalion's footsteps as the man approached again. But he did notice when a fluff of hair brushed against his sweaty arm as Deucalion ducked under it. He felt a wide shoulder in front of him, and felt a warm hand trace over his hip as a silk-clothed arm wrapped around his waist and held onto him. He felt the handle of the flogger trace over his skin as Deucalion's hand over his hip grabbed it, before his now-free hand trailed up Scott's spine, skipping over his neck and wrapping over the back of his head.

"You've been an absolute delight for me, Scott," Deucalion announced. "You can let go, now. Let go of those quarters.

It took Scott a moment to remember how his elbows worked, but he loosened them, dropping his arms to wrap around Decualion's, fingers digging into the silk over his back as the quarters  _clink-clinked_  to the ground.

At the sound, the small crowd erupted in to cheers and a smattering of applause. Scott jerked, turning his head long enough to see what must've been almost twenty people filling the room, before Deucalion pressed on his head again, and he tucked his face into the crook of the man's neck. That didn't stop some of the bystanders from congratulating him and complimenting Scott on  _taking that so good_. His lips pressed against Deucalion's throat, Scott grinned at the  **plaudits**.

Deucalion pressed his mouth against Scott's hair, just above his ear, before seeming to writhe a little to get out of Scott's arms - only to pull his own arms over Scott's and wrap around him. Scott dropped his hands a little, still clutching at Deucalion's back, as Deucalion enveloped Scott in a tight hug, one that felt more comforting than restricting.

Around them was the mumbles and footsteps of a crowd dispersing, save for one or two people who seemed to hang around, someone even coming very closely and ducking around and behind them.

There was the faint scrape of metal as the picked the coins up off the floor.

"Here you go!" a bubbly voice offered. As Deucalion released his head, Scott turned to see him accepting the two quarters from a cheerful looking girl wearing a white corset get-up with frilly stockings and cat-ear headbands. Her big grin and sunny eyes reminded Scott of Kira at her most excitable, and it was strange to see such an  **ebullient**  person in such a dark environment as the BDSM club.

"Thank you," Deucalion said, wrapping his hand around the quarters and moving them between his fingers. "Though these aren't mine."

"They're mine," an older-sounding woman said, just out of Scott's vision.

"Of course," Deucalion answered. "If you could spare just one more moment..."

Deucalion's free arm wrapped around Scott's shoulders again, around his neck. Scott jerked slightly at the hand in front of his face, the quarters tucked between Deucalion's knuckles.

"Kiss them," Deucalion said.

Scott nodded and leaned forward without thinking, pressing his lips against the face of one of those quarters with reverence, and mouthing at the other.

"And," Deucalion said, as he stretched out the arm again and deposited the coins in someone's hand. "Thank her."

"Than' you," Scott slurred out. He tried to turn his head to face whoever he was thanking, but Deucalion's hand over his head stopped him, and Scott did not have the energy to fight it.

"Will be he all right?" the cheerful girl from earlier asked.

"I believe so," Deucalion said. "Do you, by chance, remember which bag is mine? Good. Can you please put this away and get one of the water bottles for me?"

"Of course!" the girl said, fulfilling Deucalion's request with  **alacrity**. Scott felt the flogger's hand brush over his back pockets as she relieved Deucalion of it, and she practically skipped over to the corner where the pile of bags and suitcases were.

"She's quite the voyeur," Deucalion murmured in Scott's ear. "She always enjoys a front row seat to a good show. And you, my dear boy, just gave everyone a truly spectacular one."

"...thank you?" Scott said, brain too sluggish to come up with a better answer.

Deucalion laughed, the sound coming from deep within his chest, which Scott  _felt_  reverberate in his desperate embrace. Behind himself, he heard the volunteer approaching again. Deucalion accepted something from her, assured her they would be fine, then adjusted Scott's arms so he was clinging to Deucalion's shoulders as the man freed both arms to fiddle with something at Scott's back.

He heard the snapping plastic sound of a bottle opening, then Deucalion wrapped one arm around Scott to pull him away a little, the other holding up a mini-bottle of water to his lips, pushing ever so lightly to tilt his head back. Scott obliged, taking several careful sips at the man's urging.

The man pulled the bottle away, and from the sounds of it recapped it. Deucalion embraced him again, the cool plastic bottle pressing against the juncture of his neck and shoulders as his other arm wrapped around Scott's waist again, his tall posture  **buttressing**  Scott as Scott slumped against him.

"Do you think you can make it to the restroom on your own?" Deucalion asked. "To clean yourself up?"

Scott thought about it, taking stock of his drained body, then said, "In a minute."

"Of course," Deucalion said, the hand not holding anything splaying across Scott's back, and slowly rubbing it. Scott hissed a little at the gentle friction over his abused skin, but didn't pull away. "Take the time you need, Scott."

Scott just nodded.

For a few more moments, they stood their silently. Scott felt like all his joints were disconnected and his bones were replaced with noddles, slumped against the other alpha as he was in his  **torpor**.

"I hope this  **satiated**  your desire to try out flogging?" Deucalion asked, after a while.

Scott snorted, and rather than answering, he writhed his hips to press the wet spot of his jeans forward-

-and right into an answering hardness.

Scott froze, even his breath stalling in his lungs. Deucalion chuckled into his ear, the puffs of breath skittering down Scott's ear and neck.

"As I said," Deucalion said, using his hands to gently unstick Scott from his front, returning a few centimeters of space between their crotches. "You just put on an absolutely marvelous show, for me especially. But the hosts are very strict about no fluid exchange or overt sexual activity, especially when involving someone new to the scene such as yourself." Scott could feel the man grin, when his lips pressed to the hair just above Scott's ear. "Besides, even werewolves need a bit more time an attention as we age. I'm afraid you won't be able to take care of me right now."

Scott didn't even try to hide his pout, which seemed to amuse Deucalion.

"I will admit," Deucalion added. "I'm surprised you managed to come just from the flogging alone."

Scott flushed, and tucked his face even deeper into the shelter under Deucalion's jaw. "I didn' mean to."

"Oh no, my boy, don't get me wrong - I'm quite flattered," Deucalion said, hand trailing down again. "And impressed. God, to be so young and  _ripe_  again."

His hand started wandering a bit, which felt nice right up until his fingers approached Scott's stomach, at which point he jerked away, nearly toppling them over despite the man's strong stance.

"S-sorry," Scott said, internally cursing the way he stuttered over an apology he couldn't withhold, despite the fact he certainly shouldn't be sorry for this.

"You have an  **antipathy**  for being touched over your stomach, I take it?"

"After the number of times I've been shot and stabbed there - yeah, kinda."

"I'll remember that," Deucalion said, bringing his hand back to Scott's, well, back.

The crazy thing was, Scott believed him, that he would remember for next time - that there would  _be_  a next time between them. Scott's next breath was a shaky one as the implications sunk in.

Scott wiggled a little, tilting his head down so he wasn't speaking right into Deucalion's flesh, and said, "Is this aftercare? Am - am I in subdrop?"

"I do believe the answer to both those questions is 'yes'," Deucalion said, sounding amused. "You're familiar with those terms, then?"

Scott nodded. "Stiles sent me a buncha stuff 'bout BDSM when I told him I was coming here." Despite the fact he hadn't been thirsty, he was suddenly grateful for the water Deucalion just made him imbibe - he wasn't sure he could've spoken in complete sentences otherwise. "I read it all before I got here, after I was done with all my studying."

"Of course you did," Deucalion said, sounding even more amused. "Ever the  **assiduous**  student, you are."

"'Assiduous'?" Scott questioned, a little incredulous and a lot desperate for some topic of conversation. Of course, of all the things his mushy-feeling brain would latch onto, it would be word-choice. "Can' you jus' say 'diligent' or 'hard-working' like e'rybody else? Why d'you always gotta use words that sound like they're from a vocab list?"

"I used to be a professor, Scott," Deucalion said, which took Scott by surprise. "My profession lends itself to such manner of speech, and self-conduct."

"Tell that to  _my_  professors," Scott grumbled, tucking his face back into Deucalion's neck. "None of them sound as..."

"As  **erudite**?" Deucalion offered. "I'm not surprised. My field was in literature, and not many others lend itself to quite a similarly exhaustive linguistic instruction study."

With a grin, one which Deucalion was sure to feel with how Scott's mouth was pressed against his throat, he said, "That doesn't mean you have to use such  **grandiloquent**  vocabulary all the time."

It took Deucalion a moment to register Scott's word choice, but Scott knew the moment he did - the short, sharp growl was hard to miss with the way their chests were plastered against each other.

"You little  _whelp_!" he said, sounding oddly proud at Scott's sass. He brought his free hand down on Scott's ass with a sharp  _smack_ , which had Scott jerking his hips as his dick twitched at the feeling. "Just for that, I'm tempted to spank you."

Still grinning, Scott wiggled his ass under Deucalion's hand, pressing his soft front into the man's hardening dick. "Promise?"

"...absolutely."

**Author's Note:**

> **In order of appearance:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **approbation** • (n) approval  
>  **excoriations** • (n) 1. the act of censure or denunciation 2. to strip the skin off of or to flay; (v.) the act thereof  
>  **attenuate** • (v) to reduce something in size, strength, density, or value; (adj.) reduced  
>  **abate** • (v) to subside or moderate, to recede  
>  **imprecations** • (n) a malediction or curse; (v.) to curse someone  
>  **irascible** • (adj) irritable, easily angered  
>  **abeyance** • (n) the condition of being temporarily set aside; suspension or pause  
>  **execrations** • (n) 1. the act of cursing or inciting maledictions; 1. or a curse itself  
>  **complaisant** • (adj) trying to please, obliging  
>  **viscous** • (adj) thick, sticky, or gluey  
>  **equivocate** • (v) side-step verbally, intentionally mislead, attempt to misdirect from truth  
>  **implacable** • (adj) incapable of being pacified  
>  **proscribe** • (v) ostracize, banish, or outlaw  
>  **apogee** • (n) the highest point, the apex  
>  **bemused** • (adj) 1. to be confused or bewildered; 2. to be engrossed in, absorbed in  
>  **soporific** • (adj) 1. sleep-inducing; 2. drowsy, sleeping  
>  **plaudits** • (n) enthusiastic praise or approval  
>  **ebullient** • (adj) "bubbly" 1.) enthusiastic, excited, exuberant; 2.) boiling over  
>  **alacrity** • (n) cheerful promptness, eagerness  
>  **buttress** • (n) something that supports, props up, or reinforces; (v.) to support, prop up, or reinforce  
>  **torpor** • (n) lethargy, apathy, a state of inactivity  
>  **satiate** • (v) satisfy fully  
>  **antipathy** • (n) aversion, dislike  
>  **assiduous** • (adj) hard-working, persevering, persistent, diligent  
>  **erudite** • (adj) learned or scholarly, very academic (person)  
>  **grandiloquent** • (adj) pompous or bombastic manner of speech or style of expression


End file.
